As the Deizian Empire prepares for the upcoming
wedding of Emperor Titus Sergius Flavus and Azruha, one mystery remains
unsolved—the sudden and unexplained death of the former emperor. And as her
wedding gift to Titus, Azurha wants to give him answers. She suspects an
unknown poison was involved, and her search for the truth enlists two unlikely
allies.

Modius Varro’s thirst for knowledge caused an uproar
in Emona three years ago and exiled him to the border town of Madrena. But when
Titus falls victim to the same poison, his expertise in medicine becomes
essential in solving both the riddle of the former emperor’s death and finding
a cure to save the current one. His search leads him to far reaches of the
Alpirion realm, to an ancient culture shrouded in secrets, and into the arms of
one slave who must break her silence to save the empire.

Short Excerpt:

A roar ripped through
the city of Emona, slapping against the walls of the Imperial Palace and making
them quake under the force of the noise. The members of the Legion stiffened,
their fingers tightening around the hilts of their swords. And all but two of
the slaves ran deeper into the inner confines of the palace.

Izana and Farros stood
in the middle of the courtyard, refusing to shrink in fear like the other
Alpirions.

She glanced at her
fellow slave, meeting his gaze in a silent challenge before bolting toward the
outer wall. Neck and neck, they raced, the sun beating down on their skin and
the thin shimmer of sweat that coated it. Izana ducked under Farros’s
well-muscled arms when they reached the narrow staircase to the upper ramparts,
using her smaller size to her advantage. She wanted to be the first person to
see the newly engaged imperial couple enter the palace. She needed to see her
mistress wearing the crown proclaiming her to be the future empress. And she
prayed that this would be the first step in gaining freedom for her people.

Her lungs burned in
protest as she ran into the wall, but her heart leaped with joy. Even though
the carriage carrying Emperor Sergius and his bride-to-be was over a mile down
the road, the crowd still cheered outside the palace walls. The people loved
Lady Azurha, loved that she had been one of them, that she had walked along
these very streets before she found her way into the palace and won the heart
of the emperor. By now, the whole city knew how she’d saved his life from
Pontus, one of the emperor’s cousins who coveted the throne for himself.

But very few knew the
whole truth—that Azurha was the Rabbit, the most feared assassin in the empire.
Varro had made those directly attending to the imperial couple swear to this a
secret, but how quickly had the gossip spread before he made them take that
oath?

Farros leaned against
the wall beside her, his massive chest still heaving from their race. Did he
know the truth?

“I think my lady’s
fears were for naught,” she said, sweeping her hand toward the crowded streets
below. “Look at how they cheer for an Alpirion empress.”

His dark eyes glinted
with cynicism. “They cheer now, but how long do you think it will last? How
many Deizians will bend their knee to a former slave?”

“More than you think.”
But his words jabbed a sliver of fear into her chest. She chewed her bottom lip
as she started counting the enemies Lady Azurha had made in the last three
weeks. For starters, there was Governor Hostilius and his spoiled daughter,
Claudia. Not to mention some other Deizians who believed the emperor was
soiling the royal line by marrying a woman outside their race.

As though he knew what
she’d been thinking, Farros gave a slow nod. “The Deizians may be few, but they
hold all the power.” The muscle rippled along his jaw before he added, “For
now.”

Nervous laughter
bubbled up from her throat. “Are you suggesting someone is plotting to
overthrow the emperor and his people?”

“Our people managed to
withstand Deizian conquest for centuries.”

The dark intensity of
his statement quickened her pulse. She took a step back, studying the man
beside her. Farros was built more for the gladiatorial ring than the imperial
household, where he worked in the stables. The sleeves of his tunic rose high
enough to partially expose a tattoo on the inside of his bicep. He stared at
the procession below, the sun reflecting off his freshly shaven head and
coppery skin, the corded muscles in his forearms flexing as he pumped his hands
into fists. If he wanted, he could snap her neck in a matter of seconds.

He looked back to her,
his face sliding into the flirtatious smile he normally wore around her. Only
now, she knew it was a mask. She’d glimpsed the man behind it.

“Why do you look so
worried, Izana?”

“Because you talk like
a man destined for trouble.”

Farros took her hand
and pulled her back to the wall, caging her between his body and the stone
bricks. The pounding of her heart drowned out the celebration below, but she
still heard his low voice whispering in her ear, “As slaves, we’ve been told
that as long as we obey our masters, we have nothing to fear. But that may not
always be the case.”

Her breath caught,
giving her a few precious seconds to choose her words carefully. “You are not
my master.”

“Come now, Izana,” he
continued, his hot breath bathing the hollow of her neck where the mark of her
former owner was still visible. “How many men have mastered you over the
years?”

Fury sizzled through
her veins, driving away her fear. She rammed her elbow under his ribs. The air
whooshed out of his lungs, and his arms retracted to cradle his injury,
allowing her to escape. She retreated until she was well out of arm’s reach
before replying, “I’m no longer engaged in that business, and unless you wish
for me to tell my mistress everything, you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”

Her feet flew down the
stairs in tempo with her pulse, never stopping until she was safely within the
palace. Thankfully, Farros didn’t give chase. He was probably still doubled
over on the ramparts.

Varro, the palace
steward, stood beside the locked doors leading to the emperor’s private
quarters. He pressed his hand against the plate as she approached, his brown
eyes never missing a thing. “Is something wrong, Izana?”

She shook her head.
“The sun was very warm today. I’m sure Lady Azurha will be ready for a dip in
the tepidarium when she returns.”

Varro nodded, even
though his expression told her he didn’t quite believe her. It didn’t matter.
Once she was behind those doors, she was safe. But despite the cool tile
beneath her bare feet, her cheeks still burned, and her gut twisted as though
it held a den of snakes.

From now on, she
needed to be wary of Farros.

About the Author:

Growing up in small town Alabama, Crista relied on story-telling as a
natural way for her to pass the time and keep her two younger sisters
entertained.

She currently lives in the Audi-filled suburbs of Seattle with her
husband and two children, maintaining her alter ego of mild-mannered physician
by day while she continues to pursue writing on nights and weekends.

Just for laughs, here are some of the jobs she’s had in the past to pay
the bills: barista, bartender, sommelier, stagehand, actress, morgue attendant,
and autopsy assistant.

And she’s also a recovering LARPer. (She blames it on her crazy college
days)

For the latest updates, deleted scenes, and answers to any burning
questions you have, please check out her webpage www.CristaMcHugh.com